


First Dates

by Motchi



Series: First Dates [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motchi/pseuds/Motchi
Summary: Tired of waiting for Cloud, Tifa decides to take matters into her own hands. Tifa/?





	1. Tifa makes a decision.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the one, guys. This is the fic that transformed me from a reader to a writer back in the summer of '06. Little did I know that what started out as a self-indulgent desire to see my favorite ships in one story would become a universe I'd keep returning to.
> 
> I thanked my beta, Jim, in the original—who has graciously come out of retirement to beta for me again. In this updated one I'd also like to thank a few people who have been extremely generous with their time and thoughts. **NineShadows, Hayacall** and **Johnnydarko**, your conversations and support are deeply appreciated.

According to the bolded hot pink cover line on this month's issue of _Mideelmoiselle_, today was the first day of the rest of her life.

_What are you waiting for?_ it asked in a 36 pt. subhead. And as Tifa stood in the check out line, half-listening to the sounds of her groceries getting beeped and bagged, she wondered the same thing.

_What _was_ she waiting for?_ she asked herself again on the tram ride home. She didn't know yet, but hoped the answer to that and other questions plaguing her were next to the celery in the bags between her feet.

Like, why had her fighting skills hit a plateau? (_Stuck in a fitness rut? Five ways to dance out of your routine!)_ Why were her scrambled eggs always slightly on the runny side? (_Your kitchen dilemmas solved + three easy summer recipes!)_ Why was her wardrobe predominately black? (_What's your best color? Take the quiz inside!)_ And why were her breasts what men wanted a conversation with?_ (How to get him to talk—and like it too!)_

Tifa couldn't wait to get home and find out.

Her revelations were curtailed, however, by an unexpected visitor. Barret was finally ready to take Marlene to their new home in Corel. When he invited Denzel to come along to make her transition easier, Tifa smiled weakly at the meaningful look Barret sent her. She should've told him it was a kind but wasted favor.

Though Cloud's unexplained absences had lessened and he made a point to smile more, not one move had been made, not one word had been spoken, in regards to a shared future. In fact, the only thing he _was _willing to talk about was the frequency of Vincent's visits. So in the spirit of keeping the peace, she'd begun cutting back on those—and now Vincent had stopped answering his phone.

But she thanked Barret, told him with a wink that she'd use the month wisely, gave the children bear hugs and promised to miss them every day. And after they'd all left and she'd had a chance to collect her wits, the bar felt quiet, empty and—

_Lonely. _

How Tifa hated that word. As an only child, it had been an unwelcome companion; as a motherless daughter, a reason not to stay indoors. But as an adult living with a friend and two children, the word—_lonely_—smacked of failure, an inability to be someone who was wanted by someone else. She was tired of it, but most of all she was tired of it always being her fault.

_What are you waiting for?_

Tifa spied her copy of _Mideelmoiselle_ on the end of the counter. The bold hot pinkness of it was a bright swath of color amid the concrete monochrome drabness of the room. It beckoned to her. _I can help!_ it brazenly exclaimed. _Open me and find your answers!_

_Yes! _Yes! A slow smile spread on her face as she grabbed it and headed upstairs to run a hot bath. She had four hours until the bar opened, and if today was the first day of the rest of her life…she'd better get started living it.

* * *

  
It wasn't until around midnight that the steady stream of patrons had slowed to a trickle. Ever since a news crew had caught the bunch of them outside the Sector 5 church just after the Geospel rain, 7th Heaven had become a magnet for the thirsty, the grateful and the curious.

Cloud, who usually kept himself hidden from all three in the sanctuary of his office, had come downstairs while Tifa was at a table and was surreptitiously raiding the refrigerator. She wasn't surprised; she was annoyed. Because she knew as soon as his plate was heavy with food, he'd retreat back up the stairs and into his room—no matter how busy it was, or how tired she looked, or how dirty the bar was left, it was the same every night.

_Lonely._

There it was again, that word; it made her lip curl. And it was time to do something about it.

The door chime tinkled. She squinted up from the tray of drinks she was unloading and made out the dark suits of Reno and Rude filling the doorway. Light glinted off a pair of goggles and a bald head as the two men idled on the threshold, scanning the room. When they caught sight of her, something that looked a little like surprise, but mostly like delight lit up their faces. They saluted her—a double point from Reno, a wave from Rude—before detaching themselves from the entryway and making their way toward the bar.

Tifa returned their greeting with a late and slightly bewildered wave of her own. Delight at seeing _her?_ But why? Bemused, she watched the stilted exchange of nods between the two Turks and Cloud before they took their usual seats in the middle of the bar.

The duo had begun coming in almost weekly since the Remnants and Geostigma had disappeared. Though it had been uncomfortable at first, their earnest attempts at conciliation had gone a long way in softening her resistance to them. Seeing Shinra—and the Turks specifically—managing the displaced and the orphaned of the city, as well as helping with rebuilding efforts, had won her grudging respect.

Reno and Rude, in particular, often went out their way to stop by, much to the enjoyment of Marlene and even Denzel. The two seemed hellbent on reinventing themselves—something Tifa had never before thought possible—and she was now at the point where every moment spent in their company took another chunk out of the wall she had erected.

After collecting the gil from the table, she tucked the empty tray under arm and made her way to the counter, wondering if a day would ever come when the wall was completely gone.

_Why not tonight?_ a bolded, hot pink voice asked. _What are you waiting for?_

As Cloud passed her on his way to the stairs, a plate of cold chicken and fried potatoes in hand, she thought, _Yeah, what_ am _I waiting for?_

Tifa deposited the gil into a drawer with hands that were suddenly clammy. Her mind was made up, but she had to figure out where to begin—and since hanging a sign from her neck and flipping it from "Closed" to "Open" wasn't an option, flirting was her only choice. Tifa hoped she remembered how.

She grabbed the Turks' usual two beers from the mini fridge below the bar, twisted off the caps, and slid them across the counter. As they both tipped the bottles back, Tifa took a deep breath and let it out through her nose, several times, just as Zangan had taught her. Then, before she could second guess or talk herself out of it, she blurted, "So how are my favorite Turks tonight?"

Reno's bright blue eyes went wide above the bottle. Rude choked and nearly spit out his beer.

Tifa bit her lower lip and thought, _Oh dear_.

However, Reno—being Reno—was the quickest to recover. He swallowed his mouthful, set his bottle down carefully, and said with a deliberate calmness, "Well, I can't speak for my partner here, but I, for one"—he put his free hand on his chest—"am totally peachy."

Rude cleared his throat behind a fist and added, "I'm good."

The red spikes of his hair caught the low house lights as Reno cocked his head toward her. "How 'bout yourself, Lockhart?" he asked. "How's our favorite bartender doing tonight?"

Tifa wiped her hands on her apron and waited for some last minute warning voice to tell her that what she was doing was foolhardy and reckless. But there was nothing, nothing but expectant silence.

_What are you waiting for?_

"I'm open now," Tifa heard someone cheerfully announce. It might've been her.

"You're…what?" someone else said. It might've been Rude. Probably Reno.

"I'm...open now?" she repeated, somewhat confused. Wait—_oh gods_, it _had_ been her. She had said that and now she had to salvage it. "I'm open now...to...to..." _Think! Think! Thi—yes!_ "To experiencing new things! Yeah, I'm open to experiencing new things,” she said triumphantly. "Now."

Reno stared at her, eyes heavy-lidded with speculation. "New things, huh? What kind of new things?"

Tifa grinned. It worked! Or it looked like she had been successful at piquing Reno's interest, at least. And Rude—who could tell with Rude? Those sunglasses he always wore made it hard to guess his thoughts. But she'd heard rumors.

"Well…" Tifa began. "The kids will be gone for a month." When a table signaled her for another round, Tifa grabbed several shot glasses from under the counter and placed them on the bar. "And I've decided to take advantage of this time to do a few things for myself."

"Yeah? What things?"

"Like…" Tifa turned to pull a few liquors from the back wall shelves and bounced off a chest that she could've sworn hadn't been there a minute ago. "_Oof!_ Cloud, what are you doing?"

He steadied her with a hand around her upper arm, and set his half-eaten food on the counter with the other. "I thought you might need some help," he said in an undertone.

"Now?" Tifa whispered, incredulous. She gestured to the room. "There's hardly anyone here."

"Exactly." He aimed a pointed look at the Turks.

Tifa rolled her eyes. "No, I don't need your help—unless you want to help me clean up later."

He shifted his scowl to her. "And what are these _things_ you're talking about doing? Don't you think you should've discussed this with me before _them_?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because they don't involve you. Now do you mind?" She slipped her arm out of his grasp. "I was working."

Without waiting for an answer, Tifa slid past him to search the back shelves for her drink orders. After all, why should he care now? Why should _she_?

When she returned to the counter with her bottles, Cloud was grimly eating a chicken leg next to Rude, who appeared less than stoic about the new arrangement. Tifa didn't blame him; she might've thrown her arms up in exasperation if they weren't full of liquor.

Reno, apparently figuring he had more to gain than lose despite the literal dark cloud at the end of the bar, prodded at her while she poured out her order. "Hey…" he said in a near-whisper. "What things are you gonna do for yourself?"

A fork clattering onto stoneware stopped her from answering. At least three heads swiveled to Cloud, who had gotten to his feet and was holding a plate of chicken bones as menacing as he possibly could. He glowered at the Turks, at Tifa, but especially at Reno.

Tifa set the filled shot glasses on a tray. "Oh good. Since you're so kind to volunteer, could you take this"—she slid the tray down the bar to him—"to the table in the corner, Cloud?"

"But I wasn't—"

"_Please_."

Even smiling sweetly couldn't deflect the dirty look he threw at her, but Tifa didn't care. "Don't say anything until I get back," he ordered before he stalked off.

Tifa pursed her lips, wondering how she was going to deal with this new wrench in her plans. Should she put the conversation off in the hopes that Cloud would eventually get bored and go upstairs? Carry on and ignore him? Wait to enact her plan another day?

Her fist clenched. _No!_ She was a grown woman, dammit, and she was done putting off the rest of her life for someone who didn't love her.

As Tifa blinked back the stinging in her eyes, she noticed the empty bottle in front of Rude. "Another beer?" she asked, and reached under the bar to the mini-fridge without waiting for an answer. She popped the cap off the bottle with finality, took a long sip and placed it in front of him. Rude stared at it, mouth slightly agape.

"Sorry," Tifa said, though she didn't really mean it.

"It's cool," Rude replied, and sounded as though _he_ really meant it.

An empty tray clattered unceremoniously down on the counter as Cloud huffed back onto his stool. He glanced briefly at Rude's beer before sending a disapproving look to Tifa.

"So don't keep us in suspense here, yo," Reno cut in, either oblivious to the strained mood or too single-minded to care. He folded his arms on the bar and leaned toward Tifa. "What're you talking, like a manicure? Taking a day at Healin for the spa treatment?"

"Tifa doesn't get manicures," Cloud informed everyone.

Tifa shot him a dirty look. "Not yet I don't." She leaned an elbow on the counter and angled herself toward the Turks, effectively cutting Cloud from the conversation. "I meant more like getting out and doing stuff. Fun stuff."

"Dancing is fun stuff," Reno suggested.

"Tifa doesn't dance."

"Dancing _does_ sound fun," Tifa agreed.

"Going to try a new restaurant?" Rude asked.

"Tifa prefers to cook at home."

"I also like to go out," she told Rude.

"What about amusement parks?" Reno wanted to know.

"Tifa hates crowds."

"I haven't been to one of those in forever," Tifa mused.

"Ever hang out in a coffee shop?" Rude wondered.

"Tifa doesn't drink coffee."

"I'm up for anything, really," Tifa said through her teeth. "_Really_."

Reno peered down the counter at where Cloud sat stewing, then he swung his attention back to Tifa. There was a shrewd, very knowing, very _Reno_ look on his face. "So…you planning on doing all this stuff alone, Lockhart?"

Tifa smiled what she thought was her sweetest smile. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to."

Then Rude surprised her, surprised everyone—probably even himself—by asking, "Mmm, does this mean you want to do these things as dates?"

Tifa nodded. "That's exactly what it means."

There was a sound of metal scraping against concrete as Reno stood up. "And it also means the line starts behind _me_," he said, and jerked a thumb at his chest.

_Yes!_ Yes! And when Reno smiled and winked at her, Tifa thought her bar had finally lived up to its name.

* * *


	2. A reason to quit.

Though he had spent almost his entire life getting into fights, in actuality, Cloud Strife hated confrontations.

Except for today. Today, he'd make an exception. Today, he was going to plant himself in the hallway outside a bedroom and argue through a closed door until he could talk someone out of making a big mistake.

"Tifa, come on!" Cloud said for what felt like the third time in ten minutes. "You can't seriously mean to go through with _this_."

The door suddenly opened and there was Tifa, radiant and feminine _(feminine!)_ in a red sundress _(red! dress!)_, clearly intending to go through with _this_.

"And why not, Cloud?" she asked. "I told you last night I was serious about _this_. You couldn't change my mind then, and you sure aren't going to change it"—she glanced over her shoulder at the nightstand clock—"twenty minutes before."

"But, come on…Reno?"

Tifa shrugged shoulders that were alarmingly bare _(straps?!)_. "Reno was the first to ask so I accepted. What's so hard to believe about two people going out on a date? I hear it happens all the time to girls my age."

The skirt of her dress flared _(legs!)_ as she pivoted on the tall heel of her sandal _(heels!) _and whirled back into her room. He followed her to her dresser, where she peered into a mirror, trying to insert her earrings into their holes.

"Fine," he allowed, "but did you have to say yes to Rude too?"

Tifa's reflection stared at him, expressionless. "What is this really about, Cloud? Why don't you come right out and say it?"

Cloud's reflection blinked back. "I don't know what you mean."

The doorbell rang downstairs. Tifa stared at him a moment longer, then said, "Right. That's probably Reno. I have to go." She brushed past him and rounded the doorway into the hall.

"Tifa, wait," he called, and when she didn't, Cloud made a frustrated noise and sprinted off to catch her before she answered the door. He emerged from the stairwell in time to see Reno step through the opened door with an enormous paper-wrapped bouquet of red roses. "For you," he heard Reno say as he handed Tifa the flowers with an exaggerated flourish.

Cloud's steps slowed at the sight of it. _Great. _He sighed and plodded to the end of the counter, defeated. Tifa would definitely be going through with _this _now.

The expression on Tifa's face confirmed it. She was blushing _(blushing!)_ and her eyes were sparkly as she breathed, "Oh, Reno…they're just…beautiful."

Reno closed the door behind him and took in Tifa's outfit. "Not half as beautiful as you in that dress, Lockhart."

Cloud's hand unconsciously clenched itself into a fist. He had always hated Reno's smarminess, but today he wanted to punch him for it. Surely Tifa would be able to see through that line...

"Oh, goodness, you think so? I wasn't sure red was my color."

…But lately she had begun to disappoint him. And she was blushing (_again!)_. Cloud didn't think red suited her at all.

"Are you kidding? You'd make anything look good." Reno followed Tifa to the bar and half perched on the stool next to where Cloud stood. He tipped his head at Cloud with a cocky little half smile on his face, and it took all of Cloud's will power not to knock him off the stool and into the wall.

Reno returned his attention to Tifa. "You got something special planned for us tonight?"

Tifa had found a vase and was filling it at the sink. "I do!" she said over the running water. "We're going dancing, like you suggested!"

"Dancing?" Cloud and Reno said in unison. They looked at each other in surprise, which immediately turned into irritation from one and amusement from the other.

"Since when do you dance?" Cloud wanted to know.

Tifa ignored him and answered Reno instead. "We're going to _learn_ how to dance," she said as she shut the water off. She freed the bouquet from its wrapping and dropped it in the vase. "I've been dying to try a lesson for years, but was _never encouraged to_"—she pointedly refrained from looking Cloud's way—"until last night. You don't mind, do you?" She sounded worried.

"Nope," Reno answered. "Sounds like an interesting time."

For the third time in less than five minutes, Cloud wanted to hit the Turk. _Interesting time_... He knew what was going on in that male mind of Reno's, and as Tifa's friend _(best friend!)_ Cloud's instincts didn't like it one bit. The thought of Reno's hands anywhere on Tifa made his vision dim with _best friendly_ outrage.

After adjusting a few stems, Tifa placed the roses at the end of the counter and stepped back to admire them with a wide smile. "They're wonderful, Reno. Just beautiful. Thank you so much," she said.

Reno winked at her. "Pleasure's all mine, Lockhart."

Cloud's fist tightened.

"Well, we should get going," Tifa said brightly, bouncing on her toes. "It's a short walk but I don't want to be late for the first class."

"Lead on." Reno stood up and waited for Tifa to pass by. Over the top of Tifa's head he met Cloud's hard stare with one of his own.

At the door Tifa took Reno's arm, stopping briefly to wave cheerfully over her shoulder at a glowering Cloud. "Have a good evening, Cloud. And don't bother waiting up."

* * *

There were things about Midgar that Reno still missed—things like the constant white noise hum of mako reactor power cycles, the neon-lit Sector 8 club where he bought his first lap dance, and the tiny Wutainese restaurant in the slums where he would go on Fridays to slurp messy noodles and drink imported beer.

But Reno liked Edge. He liked the newness of it, the second chanceness of it, that it had a lot less baggage than the pillars and plates of Midgar, and that every third corner didn't have a ghost standing on it. Sure, he didn't have a hole-in-the-wall food joint yet, but Edge, like him, had the potential to be much more than what it had started as.

Much like the date he was currently on.

Reno had known something was different about Tifa the moment he saw her last night (when he tried to describe it to Rude later, he used the words "sick of this shit"). So when she started talking about being open to new stuff, he had a suspicion something momentous was about to happen—and, much as he always did, Reno threw himself right into the path of it.

So far, it was paying off. Tifa looked fantastic and the delicate, fluttery scent she wore was a huge improvement over the _Eau de Gun Oil _that often clung to the only other female in his sphere. The flowers were a last-minute splurge that had made her obviously very happy…and someone else obviously very _anti_-happy. And nobody had gotten punched—which was always a risk around the AVALANCHE crew.

"I wondered if you'd wear them."

Reno came out of his musings to find Tifa studying him with an impish grin on her face. "Whassat?"

"Your goggles. I wondered if you'd wear them and you did. But your outfit is new, isn't it?"

That got his attention. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Sure, his shirt wasn't tucked in but at least it wasn't wrinkled, a fact that was going to cost him a week's worth of morning coffee for Elena's ironing. He had even put on clean pants.

"Nothing!" Tifa said hastily. "Nothing at all. You look very nice, navy suits you. And gray too," she said, praising his choice of pants.

"Wool-cotton blend," he offered.

"I'm very impressed, Reno. You really went all out for this date. I can't remember the last time anyone gave me flowers."

Reno thought he detected a hint of bitterness in her voice. Was Mr. Dilly Dally still shilly shallying around her? Reno was flabbergasted (he and Rude couldn't fathom how anyone could live platonically with Tifa), and also not surprised because, frankly, the guy looked like someone who didn't know the difference between a g-string and a bra.

But before Reno could dig further into her history with Cloud—or lack thereof—Tifa pointed to a mismatched neon sign attached to a long row of buildings just up ahead. "Look, there it is!"

Reno squinted. "Mr. Twinklepaws Dance Studio?"

Tifa laughed. "Don't let the name fool you. It's actually a woman who owns and runs it." They came to a stop below the sign and gazed up at it. "The story goes that it was originally 'Bev's Dance Studio,' because, well, that's her name. After Meteorfall, she only managed to salvage the 'Dance Studio' part of her sign. There was a dog groomer down the street in the same boat, but he decided that a giant rock from heaven was a sign to retire. And so—"

Reno snorted. "Yeah, I think I got it." He looked down at her grinning, upturned face and wondered again what Cloud's deal was. "How'd you find all this out?"

"Bev told me the story this morning when I came to inquire about lessons—and speaking of lessons, we don't want to be late. Come on!" Tifa pulled him through the door under the sign and up a flight of stairs.

At the top, there was what Reno could only describe as a buzzard with a bluish hive of hair and red lipstick seated at a table in the hallway. She gave him a full body inspection and said in a cigarette-raspy voice, "So you found yourself a partner, honey."

"This is Reno, Bev," Tifa announced, squeezing his arm. "Tonight is our first date!"

"Aww, how sweet," Bev the buzzard purred. Reno flinched as a thick tongue darted out to lick at the overabundance of lipstick. "I almost hate to charge you the twenty gil."

Reno didn't think she sounded very sorry, and he was also horribly mindful of the way the woman's eyes were roving over his body. He quickly pulled out his wallet, hoping to draw her gaze away from his midsection, and forestalled Tifa's protests.

"Look here, Lockhart, even if the lesson was your idea, I asked you out so I'm picking up the tab." The dazzling smile Tifa rewarded him with almost made up for the sight of his gil disappearing down the buzzard's low neckline.

"Come this way." Bev's bony hips sashayed through the doorway behind the table. Following her, Reno wondered if one or both had ever been replaced.

The first thing he noticed about the room was how large it was and that the entire back wall was a mirror. The second thing he noticed was the dark, slicked-back male preening in front of it. Reno instantly hated everything about him, from his tight pants to his calculated stubble to the way his eyes eagerly took in Tifa.

_Dammit! _Tifa was _his_ date tonight, and if he hadn't backed down from Strife, he sure as hell wasn't going to give her up to some oily prat with tanned hormones. He rested a possessive hand at the small of her back.

Bev gestured to the pretty boy. "This will be your instructor, Allenzo. Allenzo, this is Tifey, and did you say your name was Reno?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by the sight of Allenzo taking Tifa's hand. Reno's own hand reached for the electro-mag rod at his hip, but it wasn't there, of course, because he was on a date. He gritted his teeth in impotent violence.

"Tifey, what a beautiful name, if you know what I mean." As Allenzo raised Tifa's knuckles to his lips, Reno silently urged her to give him one of her famous right jabs square in the teeth.

But Tifa merely slid her hand out of his grasp and corrected him, "It's, um, actually 'Tifa' not 'Tifey.'"

_Atta girl, Lockhart, _Reno thought, feeling inordinately pleased. Then he caught himself. _Careful, she's not yours yet._

Bev clapped her hands for attention. "All right, introductions have been made, now I'm off. Bridge night." A wrinkled claw reached out to pat Reno's butt on the way out.

"Let's get this show on the road, if you know what I mean," Allenzo said, with a sly look for Tifa. "Tonight, we will be learning the Rumba. Let us start with the box step."

"The box step!" Reno hissed at Tifa, as she tried to maneuver him into the starting position. "Isn't this a beginners class?"

Tifa frowned. "I think so, unless I've gotten the dates wrong. It'll be all right, Reno." She grabbed his hand and placed it at her waist, patting it reassuringly, before placing her other hand in his.

Reno sighed. As much as he liked Tifa aggressively placing his hands on her body, there was something she wasn't quite getting. "I don't know the damn thing," he muttered more urgently.

"You don't know the—oh, that could be a problem." Her brow furrowed in thought. "I've got it. Hope you're a quick study," she whispered, then she turned to the instructor. "Allenzo, do you think we could go over the box step again? I'm a little rusty at it."

"Of course," Allenzo said. He clicked his heels together and opened his arms to her with exaggerated flair. "It would be my pleasure, if you know what I mean."

Oh, Reno definitely knew what he meant, and chafed at the sight of that human oil slick putting his hands where Reno's were moments before. "And we go like this..." Allenzo said, moving them into position. "One, two, three; one, two, three. One, two, three; one, two, three."

Though Reno was studying Allenzo's feet, he was also aware of Allenzo's eyes, and how they were not on Tifa's very appealing face. Was it possible to dislike this guy any more? He was going to learn this fucking box step if it killed him just so she wouldn't have to dance with this shithead again.

After a few more "one, two, threes" dictated to her chest, Reno had had enough. "Okay, okay, I think she's got it, Al."

Allenzo cleared his throat, but didn't release her. "Well then! Now that we have familiarized ourselves with the basics, let us move on to the Rumba, the Dance of Romance! Shall we?" he said to Tifa.

Apparently, it _was_ possible to dislike him more. But Reno forced himself to concentrate on the new dance step. It was deceptively simple—"quick, quick, slow" this time instead of "one, two, three." Reno could handle that.

"All right, Al," he said, taking Tifa's wrist and pulling her back to him. "_My_ date, _my_ turn."

Allenzo retreated to a sound system in the corner, and music that sounded both languid and spicy filled the room. Tifa listened for a moment before her eyebrows lifted and a lively smile spread across her face.

"Ooh, this really _is_ the Dance of Romance," she said with a giggle.

"I'm warning you right now, Lockhart," Reno said solemnly. "I don't put out on the first date. So don't even try."

Tifa swatted his shoulder before placing her hand on it. "I always knew you were a tease," she told him, and they both laughed.

Dancing lessons definitely weren't what Reno had envisioned when he'd asked her out, but since it involved a lot of voluntary touching, he decided he was more than fine with it. He was also more than fine with how effortless it was to "quick, quick, slow" with Tifa, who moved with the natural grace of a fighter.

Their first attempt at a twirl, however, was a disaster—she over-rotated and they collided not-so-gracefully. Reno instinctively tightened his arms to steady her and was made acutely aware of the fact that Tifa wasn't all muscle.

"Sorry," she said, risking a glance at where Allenzo stood watching. "Let's try that again. I think I've figured out the timing."

On the second try Tifa over-adjusted and ended up under-rotating. She skidded sideways on a heel, but quickly righted herself.

"One more time," she told him. "I think this time I've got it."

Reno recognized the stubborn set of her jaw from one of their fights and he grinned. "Hey, I can do this all night. But I'm not the one who's gonna be dizzy."

They made several boxes before attempting it again. This time when Reno twirled her she neatly slid back into his arms on the correct beat. It was so perfectly executed they both let out a surprised cry at the same time.

"We did it!"

"Hey!"

Reno should've been embarrassed, getting all worked up over a dance step, but it felt good, dammit, like something they had earned together. Was she blushing? Was he? Because Reno sure felt all warm inside.

They were interrupted by a ringtone. Allenzo shrugged apologetically and retreated to a corner. Reno's cocked ear picked up the words "baby, it's not like that" and he laughed to himself. _Bit of girl trouble, shithead?_

"Reno," Tifa said, tapping her fingers at his shoulder. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

Reno stopped eavesdropping. "Hmm?"

"Is your hair naturally that red?"

He smirked. _This could be fun_. "What do you think?"

Tifa blinked, perplexed. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."

"There are two ways to find out, yo. The fun way and the not-so-fun way."

"What's the not-so-fun way?"

"I could tell you."

"What's the fun way?"

"I could show you." Reno took the opportunity to twirl her, and snuck a peek at her legs in the mirror. She looked a little breathless when she returned to him.

"Show me?" Her tone was so innocent it was painful.

There was a reason why he and Rude visited 7th Heaven every Saturday night, and if Tifa was the type of girl who wanted to believe it was for the alcohol, then Reno knew she wasn't ready for a blatant come-on yet. He discarded the heavily-innuendoed quip that was on the tip of his tongue and opted for the truth.

"Mako," he said.

Her brow wrinkled. "Show me…mako?"

Now Reno was positive she believed it was for the alcohol. He sighed. "No. Exposure to mako made it this red. A weird side-effect. It was red before, but not this bright. Ask Rude what it did to his."

"But he doesn't—" Her eyes grew large. "Oh, that explains it."

Reno winked at her. "Atta girl, Lockhart."

They heard the sound of a PHS snapping shut. Allenzo strolled briskly over to them. "Heh, heh. Sorry, folks, but I have to cut this lesson short, if you know what I mean. Emergency." He made a move toward the door.

"Hey, we understand, Al. Don't we, Tifa?" Seeing that she was more interested in adjusting the strap of her sandal, Reno strode over to the door where Allenzo was flipping through the keys on his chain and was pleased to see the instructor take a few steps back. Reno advanced a few more to put them out of Tifa's earshot. "And being the understanding guy that I am," he added, "I'll also understand if you want to refund the lady her twenty gil... if _you_ know what _I_ mean."

To his credit, Allenzo was smart enough to realize that it wasn't a suggestion. "Yes, of course. I'm an understanding guy too," he said hastily. He coughed and brought out his wallet from a back pocket, produced a twenty gil note, and handed it to an approaching Tifa.

"Oh, wait. But I didn't—"

"Ah, but you did," Reno interrupted. "Good luck patching things up with the girlfriend, Al!" He placed a hand at her back and quickly steered her out the door and down the stairs.

It had been Reno's plan to suggest going out for real dancing, but Tifa had other ideas, rounding on him the minute they set foot on the sidewalk.

"What was that all about? What is _this_"—she held the fisted twenty note up—"all about?"

"Oh, that?" Reno shrugged and reached into his pants pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. "It's called a 'refund,' Lockhart."

"Yes, but you paid for the lesson, not me." Tifa tried to hand it to him but he was busy lighting up. She grimaced and cast a disapproving look at his cigarette.

He switched the cigarette to the hand farthest from Tifa. "Keep it. I don't need it."

"Reno..."

"What?" He threw his arms wide. "There's nothing to tell. Lesson gets cut short, you get your money back. Customer Service in action. You don't want the money? Fine. I now have a twenty gil credit at the bar. End of discussion." He took a long drag and made a vague motion for her to begin walking.

Tifa snapped her mouth shut, turned on her heel, and began marching in the direction they had come from.

_Oh shit_. He'd done it now...whatever _it_ was. Was it his smoking? Was it something he'd said? He was half-tempted to let her walk home alone, but he _had_ been on his best behavior, dammit, and his pride demanded recognition of that fact.

"Lockhart, wait up. Come on." When he finally managed to grab her arm and slow her to a halt, she whirled on him, eyes blazing.

"What is it? Is it _this_?" Reno held up his cigarette. "Fine, I'll get rid of it." He tossed it to the sidewalk and crushed it under his shoe. "It's gone. Happy now? Did I say something to piss you off? Then I take it back. Just stop acting like I've been such a shitty date, because I haven't."

Tifa's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Thanks for putting that out. I really hate it when people smoke. And no, you haven't been a bad date. I've actually had a lot of fun tonight. It's just that…" She sighed. "Never mind."

"Spill it, Lockhart," he said. "You know you want to."

"It's just that I'm tired of men hiding unpleasant things from me, like– like I can't handle it or something!" She threw her arms up in exasperation. "First, it was Cloud with the Geostigma—"

"All right! That Allenzo guy was being a dick so I thought he owed you," Reno admitted, irritated that she had lumped him in with Strife, who he also considered something of a dick. "I didn't like the way he was—what's that word Shin-Ra HR uses—'objectifying' you. I didn't like it."

There was a strange smile on her face. "Really?"

But Reno was still annoyed. "Really. I wasn't trying to hide it or some shit. If anything, I was protecting you—but you don't need that either. Sorry."

Tifa shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, Reno. I carried my frustration with Cloud over to you and that's not fair. And, I do appreciate you going to battle for me. It's not…something I'm used to."

Reno stared at her a bit longer than necessary, making her squirm a little (he had _really _wanted that cigarette), before letting her off the hook. "Fine. You're forgiven. Now do you mind? Can we walk a bit slower this time?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered off without waiting for her. Mollified, Tifa soon fell into step next to him and slipped her arm through his. When he gave her a mock stern look, she rolled her eyes and nudged his ribs with an elbow. Reno let out a laugh, both at her and at himself.

Gods only knew how Strife managed resist her, because he sure couldn't.

"Reno, can I ask you another question?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you get those tattoos on your cheeks?"

He flicked a glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Tifa shrugged. "Our date is almost at an end and I still know virtually nothing about you."

_So that's how it was going to be._ Irritated at himself for wanting it to be otherwise, Reno answered a little too brusquely, "It's a long story."

"Oh, I see." She bit her lip and shifted her attention to the street lamp at the end of the block.

_Fuck, she had a way of making him feel guilty_. "Hey, now." It was Reno's turn to nudge her. "What about you? Why don't you tell me why you cut your hair?"

"My hair?"

"Yeah, your hair. I remember it being past your butt or something. Now it's a lot shorter. Why'd you cut it?"

"I don't know…I suppose I wanted a change."

"Well, good," he said lightly. "Because I always thought it was stupid for a fighter to have hair that long. Unless you're Sephiroth, cut the damn hair."

"As much as I hate the son of a bitch, he did have gorgeous hair," Tifa admitted. "I swear he carried a Shampoo/Conditioner materia."

Reno chuckled.

Tifa jabbed a finger at his arm. "Why are you laughing? I should hate you too for having prettier hair than me."

"Hey, watch it, Lockhart!" He rubbed his arm. "It's not my fault your grooming habits are sub-par."

Tifa snorted. "What grooming habits? I've got two kids, remember?"

"Stop using Denzel and Cloud as an excuse!"

Reno turned when her arm slipped suddenly from his, and found her stopped on the sidewalk, head bowed. He heard a choking sound and was alarmed to see her shoulders shaking. _Shit!_ Now he'd really done it—he'd made her cry. He made a mental note to never use Strife as a punchline around her again.

Reno touched her shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, and when she didn't answer he tentatively wrapped his arms around her quaking form. He gave her hair a few awkward strokes, and a small part of his brain told him she had nothing to be jealous of Sephiroth for.

"I shouldn't've said that," Reno told her. "I'm a dick too. Sorry."

And then it dawned on him that his shirt front wasn't wet. In fact, as he pushed her to arm's length and peered into her face, he saw that she was actually...laughing?

"Lockhart?"

A squeak escaped her, and when she finally looked up at Reno's confused face, the dam burst. She doubled over in merriment, howling. He tried to resist, suspecting that some of it was at his expense, but in the end it was just too damned infectious, _she_ was just too damned infectious. He found himself snickering, and once he started, her mirth seemed to double (if such a thing was possible), which spurred his on, until they found themselves at the door to the bar, clinging to each other weakly and wondering how they got there.

"Gaia," she said, wiping at her tears. "I haven't laughed that hard in ages."

Reno made a swipe under his eyes with a knuckle. "My abs haven't been this sore since those fucking Remnants."

Then they both noticed a parked Fenrir. They immediately sobered.

"I'd invite you in," Tifa began, "but it looks like Cloud's still home and...well, you know how he is."

Reno did, in fact, know how Strife was, and wasn't in the mood for another pissing contest. Still, it had been a surprisingly enjoyable evening, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to end just yet.

"You could," he ventured, "come to my place."

In the dim light, he could make out the "oh" shape of her mouth. "Reno, I... Well, you see—I really liked seeing this side of you tonight, I honestly did. And it was a lot of fun. But..."

_Shit. Here it comes_. Reno braced himself.

"I'm not ready to get too involved with one person yet, you know? It was only yesterday that I decided to start doing things for myself, and I feel like there's still this whole world I have yet to experience." Tifa wrung her hands. "I'm sorry, Reno."

He waved her off. "Nah, sure. I get you. And I had fun too, but all good things gotta come to an end, right?"

Tifa beamed at him. "Thank you for taking me out tonight, and thank you for understanding. You are such a gentleman." She rose up on her toes and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Then she opened the front door to the bar. "I'll see you around?"

"You bet. Got that credit to work off now."

Tifa half-smiled, half-laughed, and Reno watched until she was completely swallowed up by the interior darkness before spinning on his heel and setting off for his own home.

Strolling down the walk, cigarette clamped between his lips and on its way to being lit, he wondered what Saturday nights would be like—now that he knew what she smelled like, what her hair felt like, what the small of her back dipped like.

The hand holding the lighter paused. _Damn that girl_.

Sighing, he ripped out the cigarette, flung it away and stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. Absentmindedly whistling, he ambled on at a slightly less leisurely pace, trying to remember if he had any gum at home.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This author replies to comments unless on hiatus.


	3. Maybe a different man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my eternal gratitude to Nin, Lindsey and Mr. Motchi.

The doorbell rang.

Cloud glanced up from where he sat at the counter, poring over route maps. Tifa glanced up from the floor she was scrubbing. Neither person budged.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

"Aren't you?"

"I'm a little busy right now."

"I'm a little stuck right now."

Cloud rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you stopped mopping yourself into a corner, you wouldn't be stuck."

Tifa shot him a nasty look as she propped the mop handle against the wall. "Maybe you're lucky I just finished."

He watched, amused, as she hopped across the wet tiles and opened the door.

"Rude! What a surprise!"

Cloud turned back to his routes and huffed. Oh _him_. Great. He knew Tifa and Rude had a date scheduled for this weekend, but only because he had overheard a phone call with Yuffie.

Tifa didn't talk about her plans with him any more, not since that first date with Reno. He had only wanted to know what was so funny, but apparently she didn't appreciate him spying on her through the window. Nor did she like his lecture about kissing former enemies, even if it was only on the cheek. And those damned flowers—maybe he had allergies, because something about them irritated him. Tifa moved them to her bedroom after strongly suggesting he start taking on more deliveries.

But since today was the first time in days that she'd said anything at all to him, Cloud knew he'd better keep his mouth shut about this unexpected—and unwelcome—visit.

"Come in!" Tifa said, opening the door wider. "Wait! Before you take another step, you have to take off your shoes and socks." She gestured to her own pants, which were rolled to the knees, and Cloud's, which were well above the ankles. "I've been mopping," she explained. "Sorry."

"No problem." Rude plucked an overturned chair from the top of a nearby table, righted it and sat down.

Tifa shoved her hands into her pockets. "So what brings you here today? Our date isn't until Saturday."

Cloud's ears perked up. _Saturday!_

"Yeah, um, that's why I'm here," Rude said, carefully cuffing his suit pants. He stood and placed his shoes and socks by the door.

Tifa bumped him playfully with her elbow. "You're not cancelling on me, are you?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing, unfortunately. Reno and I are getting sent out on assignment."

Cloud smirked to himself and gathered up his maps. The date was cancelled. _Over! Kaput! _He bounded up the stairs to his office, dumped his papers on his desk and sat down to put on socks and boots.

_Good! _He was tired of this new Tifa and of the animosity that had sprung up between them because of it. All he wanted was for things to go back to being easy. Was that really too much to ask? Cloud didn't think so.

"When do you leave?" he heard Tifa ask.

"Tomorrow morning. It's why I'm here now. Came straight from work."

"Oh, that's too bad. I was looking forward to the exhibit too."

_An exhibit!_ It annoyed Cloud that he was reduced to eavesdropping to find out what was going on. Nonetheless, he crept down the steps, hoping to hear more.

"So was I. You should still go. You don't need me to take you."

"I don't know. Maybe. But what about you, Rude? I could go, but you're still losing out on a date."

"Don't worry about me, I'm used to it. Comes with the job."

Then there was silence. Thinking it was the end of the conversation, Cloud clattered the rest of the way down.

"Well, Tifa," he said, rounding the corner, "I'll have to head out now if I want to get this delivered on time."

Tifa nodded absentmindedly, and Cloud frowned. Maybe she hadn't heard him?

Suddenly, she brightened and snapped her fingers. "I've got it! Why don't you stay for dinner? We've got a few hours before I open the bar for tonight."

Cloud cleared his throat. "Tifa, I said I'm leaving. I'll be back late tonight."

"Huh? Oh." She walked him to the door, but didn't hug him like she usually did. "See you later. Drive safe."

His mouth twisted as he opened the door. He stepped out onto the front stoop but kept his hand on the knob. "Tifa."

"What?"

"Just be careful."

Her face darkened. "We're not going through this again, are we? Just because Rude's a Turk—"

Cloud held up a hand, interrupting her. "That's all I'm going to say about it." He walked over to Fenrir, aware that he had almost stepped over the line with her. But it felt good to say _something_.

He mounted the bike and donned his goggles. "Save me some leftovers?"

"I'll try." She gave him the briefest of smiles before closing the door.

* * *

  
If Rude had been a different man, he would have chosen a different career. He would have chosen a safer job, one that didn't carry the expectations of nights and weekends and constantly being on call. He certainly would've chosen one that didn't get him shot at.

If Rude had been a different man, he would have been married by now. His wife would've been a pretty woman, he imagined, who worked in a store and liked to spend money on herself and sometimes him. They would've had kids, he imagined—a boy and a girl—and there would've been photo albums and picture frames filled with family holidays and vacations.

But if Rude had been a different man, he might have been one of the thousands who hadn't survived Meteorfall, or one of the hundreds who had succumbed to Geostigma—or worse, he might have watched as his wife or child became one of those hundreds or thousands.

And for this reason, Rude was better off being who he was, living the life he had chosen. He was alive, his friends were alive—even his former enemies were alive—and without them, Edge wouldn't be alive. So it was a good thing for everyone that Rude wasn't a different man. Or so he continued to tell himself.

When Rude left work that particular day, the weight of his life felt heavier than usual. As he drove to 7th Heaven he wondered how his cancellation news would be received by Tifa. Regret? Hopefully. A raincheck? Not likely.

But Tifa inviting him to stay for dinner? He was speechless.

"Well? What do you say, Rude?" Tifa closed the door and leaned against it, as if holding him prisoner.

Rude resisted the urge to blush at that particular mental image.

"Come on. It'll be fun," she cajoled, mistaking his silence for indecision. "That is, unless you had other plans..."

Other plans? _Going home, eating a frozen dinner, packing, and heading to bed early. _Yeah, he had other plans, none of which rivaled a beautiful woman cooking for him. The argument was over before it had begun.

"All right," he said. "If you don't mind, I'd love to stay."

Tifa clapped her hands in delight. "Good!" She skipped over to the bucket and mop in the corner. "Just let me put this stuff away first."

After she had disappeared into a back room, Rude wandered over to the frames that covered a good portion of the far wall. Landscape photography, mostly—all done remarkably well. It was what had prompted him to suggest the exhibit that Shin-Ra was hosting next weekend as their date. But all of that was moot now.

A trumpet and saxophone were suddenly piped in through hidden speakers. Rude listened for a moment, then nodded in appreciation. So Tifa liked jazz. He always knew she was his kind of woman.

Tifa breezed back behind the bar, tying up her hair and pulling on an apron over her tank top. When she noticed him standing at the photos, she casually flicked a hand at the wall. "Cloud's. He takes a camera with him during his trips."

"They're nice. Didn't know he had a talent for it." Rude made a mental note to add it to Strife's file when he got back to the office.

Tifa smiled and moved to the sink to wash her hands. "Neither did he. My idea to frame them. Now, how does this sound? We can start off with a tonberry salad. For a main, pan-seared zolom steaks with a side of steamed cactuar—which I should probably make a garlic cream sauce for, if I still have any cream. And we'll end with some chocolate cake left from yesterday. Good?"

Rude was alarmed. "Everything sounds great, but one question—are there really tonberries in that salad?"

Tifa laughed as she bent down to open the mini-fridge. "No! It's called that because of the colors. It's actually just lettuce, chopped walnuts and a light vinaigrette." She placed a head of lettuce and a couple of paper-wrapped packages on the counter. Then she kicked the fridge door closed and whirled to grab a sauté pan from the wall behind her.

Rude watched, fascinated. She moved like she did in a fight—graceful and efficient, something he remembered from their very first encounter. She'd caught him staring then, and the powerful roundhouse she'd delivered to his gut had been a surprise—as had the fact that he'd fallen in love.

"Rude? Is that okay with you? We can skip the salad if you'd like."

He coughed, aware that he'd been silent a little too long. "No, salad is good. Sure it's not too much trouble?"

"Oh, no, it's not any trouble at all." She poured oil into the pan and set it on a burner. "I love to cook, and I have to use this stuff before it spoils. The children won't eat it, and it seems like a waste to make for just me."

"They don't like zolom and cactuar?"

"Ha! No!" She moved over to the sink to run water into a saucepan. "I'm lucky if I can get them beyond a grilled cheese sandwich."

Her laugh was affectionate, motherly. The corners of Rude's mouth tipped up to hear it. "Your menu might be a little...intimidating."

Tifa gave him a wry look. "Would you rather have a grilled cheese?"

"No. I like to try new things," he assured her. "Even if they _are_ things I'm used to fighting."

Tifa laughed. "Now, see, that's how I came up with my recipes, from adventuring. During the days of AVALANCHE, through a painful process of elimination, it was discovered that I was the best cook. But tromping through the wilderness can leave you short on ingredients, so I learned to make do with whatever was killed that day. I'm sure everyone was relieved when we came to a town with a restaurant."

"Where did you get these?" Rude was positive he'd never seen any of this at the local grocers.

"The zolom is from a little run-in Cloud had a couple of months ago. I had a bunch of steaks in the freezer, but these are the last few. And Barret brought the cactuar with when he came to pick up the kids."

So that's where they were—Denzel and Marlene. Now that Tifa was friendly toward Reno and him, the kids had decided they would be too, and Rude was secretly pleased. He'd even begun carrying a few pieces of candy in his pocket for his visits. "How long will they be gone?"

"Oh, let's see..." Tifa walked over to the calendar hanging on the wall. "Hmm. They left on the first"—she put her index finger on a square at the top—"and Barret said he'd bring them back on the thirtieth." She counted under her breath as she tapped each of the squares in between. "So...twenty-four more days?"

"That's quite a lot of time," Rude observed.

"That's a lot of _quiet_ time, you mean," Tifa corrected.

They shared a chuckle.

"It was just going to be Marlene," she continued, "but she refused to leave Denzel here with 'the boring adults.' Say, Rude…" Tifa pulled another saucepan off the wall and set it on a front burner. "Could I get you to do me a favor? Would you be willing to make the salad?"

"Sure," Rude answered, leaving the wall of photos. Of course, if Tifa had asked him to take out the trash and fold three loads of laundry, he would've done it. And gladly.

As he rounded the end of the bar, Tifa ambushed him with an apron. She leaned close to loop it over his head then stepped behind to tie it. "I wouldn't want you to mess your suit," she said. When she came around to face his front again she giggled.

Rude quirked an eyebrow up. _Tifa was laughing at him?_ "What?"

"Oh, Rude!" She covered her mouth with her hand. "If only you could see yourself!"

He glanced down, taking in the black apron. _Nothing unusual about that._ He bent at the waist and caught sight of his bare toes and rolled pants. _Oh yeah—that_. He also realized he still had his suit jacket on. _And_ _that_. The sunglasses probably didn't help either.

Rude made a move to untie the apron, but Tifa intercepted his hands and brushed them away. "Let me get that. It's the least I can do after laughing at you."

She ducked under his raised, bewildered arms and stationed herself behind him again. Rude felt the apron ties at his waist go slack. When he saw her hands come around to unzip his blazer from underneath the apron, Rude's knees got a little weak. When she tugged it down and off his shoulders from behind, his eyes nearly closed.

"There you go," Tifa said, retying him in the back. She draped his coat over the back of a stool then bustled to a cupboard to grab a bowl for him.

He stationed himself far enough to keep out of her way, but close enough to watch her in his peripheral vision putting steaks on to sear, cactuar to steam, and butter to melt. When was the last time he had shared a kitchen with a woman? So long ago that he couldn't remember.

After rolling up his shirt sleeves, he washed his hands and set work tearing the lettuce into perfect sizes. When he was finished, Tifa came over to observe his handiwork.

"Wow. That didn't take you long at all." She sounded impressed. "Can you chop walnuts too?"

_Could he chop walnuts too?_ Rude scoffed and took the bowl of nuts from her extended hand. "Knife?"

She looked faintly amused. "In the drawer below you."

Rude opened the drawer and glanced over the selection. _Mythril_, he noted, impressed. _Nothing but top of the line for Tifa's kitchen_. He selected a knife and slid a nearby cutting board over to his work space. For a minute, there was nothing but the dull, rhythmic thud of the knife against wood, and then Rude was tipping the newly chopped nuts back into the bowl.

Tifa peered around his arm. "Can you do garlic?"

He sighed dramatically and held out a hand, which she dropped four cloves onto with a sheepish smile. He was showing off; he could admit it. It was hard not to though, knowing that he was being watched, graded and probably compared.

"Do you cook, Rude?" Tifa asked after he had finished mincing the second clove.

"Used to."

"Used to?"

He shrugged. "Like you said earlier, hard to see much point in it for just me."

"Were you any good at it?"

"I've never killed anyone with it." He saw the butter in the saucepan start to bubble. "You want this in there?"

"Oh. Yeah, that'd be great." Tifa moved aside to let him scrape the garlic into the pan. "I have a feeling you're a better cook than you're letting on, Rude."

He grinned. "Probably."

Tifa flipped the zolom steaks over and pointed her tongs at him. "You know, you should advertise these cooking skills. You could be married within a month."

_Or maybe on a second date. _Rude set the cutting board and knife on the counter and leaned against it with arms folded. "Is that all it takes?"

"Yup. Women _love_ men who can cook," Tifa said matter-of-factly, stirring the garlic in with the butter. "And if they're good looking? Jackpot!" She turned slightly and fixed him with an appraising look. "Of course, that would ruin the bachelor reputation you've got."

"Wouldn't be much of a loss."

Tifa's head cocked. "Wouldn't it?"

"I've always wanted to be a family man, Lockhart."

"You have?" She held his even stare for a moment, then turned back to their dinner. Steam billowed out as Tifa tilted up the lid on the cactuar and peeked in. "That's a little hard for me to imagine, Rude. Could you get into that cupboard by your leg and grab plates for us?"

He opened the cupboard. "Why's that? I may be a Turk, but I still crave the comforts of home." _And things as simple as a request for plates._ "Dinner and salad?"

"Yes, please." Tifa left her spot at the stove to open the mini-fridge next to Rude. "It's just weird to think of 'Turk' and 'family man' together, you know?" she remarked, peering inside. She removed a carton of cream and a bottle of white wine and closed the door.

Rude grinned as he set the stack of plates on the counter. _Maybe she had a point._ "There was never a possibility of it before, back in the old days of Shin-Ra, but now that Rufus is taking the company in a new direction..."

Tifa grinned back. "Then you might finally get a love life?" she finished.

He blushed. "Something like that."

"Anything's possible," she said cryptically before handing him the salad plates and bottle of wine. "Could you put these on one of the tables out front?"

For some reason, Rude assumed they'd eat at the counter, but then he reminded himself that it _was_ a date. He set the wine and plates down on the closest table with hands that were suddenly sweaty.

If he had been a different man, _this might've been more than a date._

"I just put the cream in the sauce," she announced from the stove. "And there's more stuff on the counter for you."

Rude smiled to himself at her bossiness. She had added the salad bowl, napkins, flatware, two candles and a box of matches. It took a couple of trips to get everything to the table, and as he was lighting the candles Tifa appeared at his side with their dinner. She had removed her apron and untied her hair so it fell around her bare shoulders, and for a moment Rude couldn't breathe.

"Thanks for getting the table ready, Rude," Tifa said brightly. She set the plates down in front of their seats. "Here, let me get this for you."

She untied his apron and lifted herself on tiptoe to slip it over his head, but it caught his sunglasses. He made a grab for them but wasn't fast enough and they clattered to the floor between their bare feet.

Tifa blinked. "Oh my goodness, Rude, your eyes! They're beautiful! That gold ring around the green—I've never seen anything like that before."

Rude was aware that he was close enough to see the red flecks in _her_ eyes. He coughed, bent to retrieve his sunglasses and slipped them back on. "Now you know why I wear these. Don't need women staring into my eyes everywhere I go."

She was giggling when she took her seat, but when Rude moved to stand behind her chair, a soft "oh" of surprise escaped her. After he slid her chair in he took his own seat across from her, and as Rude beheld a Tifa softly framed by candlelight he tried not to stare.

"Eat up, Rude," Tifa urged while she poured wine into their glasses. "Trust me, you don't want cold zolom."

"Right," he said, picking up his fork.

There wasn't much to be said about the salad, despite the fact that he had expertly torn the lettuce. The zolom was actually delicious, much better than what he had expected from such a vile creature. And the cactuar tasted like a very tender, very sweet artichoke, and was balanced nicely with the cream sauce.

"Well, how is it?" Tifa wanted to know.

Rude wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Fantastic! I think you've sold me on zolom. The kids don't know what they're missing."

Her smile was wide and only a little smug, and he wondered if _Strife_ knew what he was missing. If Rude had been a different man, _she would've been off the market a long time ago._

"So, Rude," Tifa said after they were almost through their plates. "Why _do_ you wear the glasses? Isn't it hard to see at night?"

"Not really."

"So why wear them?"

"They're prescription," he explained. When her eyebrows rose, he added, "A little near-sighted."

Tifa took a sip of her wine. "Why not contacts?"

"Tried, but couldn't get used to 'em. So Shin-Ra figured if I had to wear glasses, sunglasses were more intimidating. Less, um, nerdy."

"You could never be mistaken for a nerd, Rude," she told him.

Rude grinned. "But that's what I was recruited for. Did you know that? Apparently, they hadn't forgotten the fact that I accidentally blew up one of their cars the summer before."

"You blew up a company car?"

He nodded. "Was quite the pyrotech growing up. Only time I wasn't getting into trouble was when I was in the kitchen."

"So you weren't recruited for your fighting skills?"

"Those were just a bonus." He swirled his last bit of zolom in what was left of the garlic sauce and forked it into his mouth. "Started training in high school to pick up chicks."

"And did it work?"

He shook his head ruefully while he refilled their wine glasses. "Nope. Didn't then, doesn't now."

"Oh, thank you. Now"—Tifa sat back in her chair with her glass cradled in her hand—"I've always wondered…did your parents name you 'Rude' or is it a nickname?"

"It's a nickname."

Interest made her eyes sparkle. "And is your real name a secret?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"No. I'm kidding," Rude teased her. "It's 'Rudiger.'"

Tifa mulled the name over. "Rudiger… Huh."

"See why I go by 'Rude?'"

"But I like it!" she protested. "It has a nobility to it—like a knight or something. It's romantic."

Rude blushed, then said gruffly, "I trust you to keep it a secret, Lockhart. Don't need women imagining me in shining armor or something."

She mimed a zipping up of her lips and took a sip of her wine. "You know, Rude, this is the most I've heard you talk tonight. Ever. I wasn't sure you even knew how to have a conversation. It's very refreshing."

He fingered the base of his wine glass, suddenly shy. "I talk when I've got something worth saying."

"Unlike Reno, who talks all the time," she said.

They shared a laugh, and when the comfort of the moment was over, Rude watched her push her chair back and head off to the kitchen again. He wondered if she ever allowed herself to relax, or if she was always busy, always moving in every direction for everyone. When he heard a cupboard open and a clatter of plates, he remembered the promise of dessert. He stacked up the dirty dishes and utensils from the table and joined her behind the counter.

"Rude, you didn't have to do that," she said, carefully removing cake slices from a white box.

"I know." He spied the dishwasher. "But you'll be opening the bar soon." He swung the door down and started loading the plates into the already half-full racks.

"Rude!"

He grinned as he placed the last plate in the tines and pulled the door shut. He straightened, only to find a piece of cake and a fork shoved at him.

"Here," Tifa said, eyes dancing in amusement. "Eat this before you get into more trouble."

"Did you make this yourself?" Rude asked, a couple of bites in.

"Mmm, no," Tifa mumbled through her own bite. She swallowed and explained, "I'm, um, not very good at cakes—or at desserts in general. A patron brought it in yesterday as a way of settling his bar tab. He and his partner run a bakery over in Grid 9. Good, isn't it?"

"Very. I'll have to check it out."

"We go there a lot," Tifa said. A note of self-depreciation worked its way into her voice as she added, "I keep telling myself one day I'll learn how to properly make cakes, but I’ve never gotten around to it and the kids are too impatient to wait for me—not that I blame them."

She seemed to view her incompetence at desserts as a shortcoming, but to Rude it made Tifa even more perfect. A faultless Tifa wasn't nearly as interesting—or attractive—as a Tifa with a few flaws.

"Maybe you should take a class," he suggested.

"Do they even have them?"

"Yes. One of the families we relocated a month ago—the wife said she used to run them—before—and was hoping to start them back up again soon."

"Oh." Tifa tapped her fork against her lips. "That might be fun, actually."

"It would be," Rude agreed, eyeing her empty plate. And when she finally set it on the counter and headed to the table to clear off the rest of their dinner, he opened the dishwasher and loaded their dessert plates and forks. While he hunted under the sink for the dish soap, it occurred to him that he might want to look that woman up when he got back into town, do a little inquiring. _For Tifa_, he told himself.

When she reappeared, arms full of discarded linens, candles and an empty salad bowl, he was in the process of filling up the sink with suds.

"Rude, you are the guest," she protested. "You are _not_ going to clean up."

"Not by myself," he replied. "Come on, Lockhart. Put those leftovers away so I can finish up here."

Tifa flung up her hands in exasperation. "Fine. Fine! I give up!" She dug into a cupboard and began pulling out lids and containers. As she emptied the pans, Rude washed them, and within a matter of minutes all the dishes from their dinner were either washed or loaded into the dishwasher.

Tifa looked around her in awe. "You are truly, truly a handy man to have around the kitchen, Rude. Oh, and I boxed you up an extra piece of cake, by the way."

"Thanks," he said, drying the last pan. "And my masculinity isn't being threatened, is it?"

"Definitely not." She was looking at him with a mix of speculation and admiration. "Just the opposite, actually."

He felt his face grow warm under such blatant regard. Flustered but pleased, Rude reached for the watch he had removed and set beside the sink. He frowned at the display before buckling it back on his wrist.

Tifa frowned too. "You have to go, huh?"

Rude nodded. "Still have to pack.” He unrolled his shirt sleeves and buttoned his cuffs.

"Yeah," she said, dismissively waving a hand toward the front, "and I have a bar to open in an hour. How long will you and Reno be gone?"

"Depends on how long it takes us to finish the job." Rude absently picked up the damp dishtowel he'd been using, folded it and set it on the counter. "Maybe a week, week and a half."

"It'll be weird not seeing you and Reno in your usual spots this Saturday," Tifa remarked as they walked to where his shoes lay. "I think the girls who usually sit in that corner"—she pointed to an empty booth—"will miss you guys. I think they only come here for you two."

_And what about you?_ Rude wanted to ask. _Will you miss us?_

Maybe if he had been a different man, he would be leaving his shoes off instead of lacing them up.

She was holding his jacket open for him when he stood up. The contact, though brief, sent a gut-punch of longing through him. He shrugged into it slowly.

"Well, I had a great evening, Rude. I can't thank you enough for helping with everything." She held the cake out to him.

"It was nice. I enjoyed all of it—dinner, the dishes." _You._

"The dishes? Liar. Don't forget to eat that before you leave." Tifa pointed to the container in his hand. "I doubt it'll be any good when you get back."

Rude jiggled the box. "Breakfast."

Smiling widely, she opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop with him. It was a warm evening, and the alley where 7th Heaven's entrance lay was busy with pedestrians out enjoying it.

"Have a safe trip, Rude," Tifa said softly. She rose up on her toes to give him a quick, tight hug before slipping back inside the bar and closing the door behind her.

The press of her cheek against his lapel had been so brief he might've imagined it, but it had been there. He walked to where his car was parked with a single, miraculous thought keeping him company: that maybe he didn't need to be a different man after all.


	4. Reading between the headlines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still technically on hiatus, but I’ve been actively trying to rewrite this chapter since December and something finally broke loose (other than hell). 
> 
> Hope everyone who reads this is safe and well (enough) wherever they are. I know it’s just a chapter, and not very helpful in the grand scheme of things, but maybe it’ll brighten someone’s day. 
> 
> For Nineshadows, Hayacall (belated gift!) and Dex.

This was not the real Tifa.

He sat with his back against the closed bedroom door of a Tifa impostor—it had to be. The real Tifa wouldn't have slammed it in his face. The real Tifa wouldn't be ignoring him.

"Cloud, for the last time, I am going!" she yelled from inside the room. "And it's too late to reconsider now anyway. Vincent just called and he's almost here!"

He banged the door with his head. "Call him back and tell him to turn around then!"

The sound of footsteps was his only warning before the door opened and he felt himself falling backward. His head hit her bedroom floor with a thud. A pair of glinting eyes stared down at him.

"You could've given me some warning, you know," he said. "That hurt."

The hand on the doorknob twitched.

No, it couldn't be the real Tifa, Cloud thought, as she stepped over him. He didn't recognize this woman huffing away at all. The sight of a blue skirt disappearing around the doorframe further reinforced that. _His_ Tifa always wore black.

Didn't she? He sat up. No, wait—she _had_ been wearing colors lately. It first started with that red dress, but now that he thought about it, Cloud vaguely recalled a yellow and purple since then.

Yet, something else was different about her, something he couldn’t put a finger on…

Stricken, Cloud hopped to his feet and ran downstairs. He found her sitting at one of the bar stools, chewing on the end of a pen, so deep in thought she didn't notice his scrutiny. What was different about her? Her hair? Was it shorter? Lighter? _Aha!_ She had it twisted up into some sort of elaborate bun...thingy. _What the hell? _Since when did Tifa know how to do that?

"Don't. Just don't," she ordered, scribbling on a piece of paper. "If you value our friendship, you will keep your mouth shut until I leave."

"Now, this is where we disagree." As he neared her, he caught a whiff of her perfume and it bothered him. "I value our friendship so much that I'm trying to keep you from doing something reckless."

Tifa didn't look up. "It's a photography exhibit, Cloud, not the arena at the Gold Saucer."

"Yeah, but it's a Shin-Ra exhibit. I don't think—"

"Sometimes you _don't_ think," she mumbled.

"I heard that."

Tifa sighed and put down her pen. "Look, a town like Edge is too small to be nursing grudges, and it's obvious that Shin-Ra is trying to turn over a new leaf. Take the Turks, for example…"

"I'd rather not."

"Reno and Rude are out there every day trying to make things better," she continued. "The least we can do is give them the benefit of a doubt."

The doorbell rang.

Cloud swallowed. "Before you go, tell me one thing—why Vincent?"

Tifa rolled her eyes. "Just because he was in a coffin for nearly thirty years, doesn't mean he didn't have a life before that." She slid off her stool and headed to the entrance.

"I would've gone with you tonight. All you had to do was ask me."

"Maybe that's why I didn't."

At the sound of the door, Vincent swiveled from where he stood watching the pedestrians on the street. "Oh, Tifa—" Cloud heard him say. "You look beautiful. Am I late?"

Tifa pulled him through the doorway, smiling. "No, not at all. And thank you for noticing."

Cloud flinched. He'd noticed, he just hadn't said anything.

She walked over to the bar and grabbed the piece of paper and a small black purse. "I wrote down the recipes of the more difficult drinks since you said you were still a little, um, rusty. I can't thank you enough for doing this, Vincent. I know you were passing through this way and all, but still…"

Vincent took the paper from her. "It's my pleasure. Have a good time tonight."

"Thanks, Vincent. You're a good friend." Tifa squeezed his arm as he perused the recipes. Then she gave Cloud a meaningful look.

Yeah, like he didn't see that one coming. Cloud sighed and raised a hand in farewell.

"Good luck, guys," Tifa tossed over her shoulder. "See you later!"

She was gone before the door finished closing.

* * *

The front page headline of that morning's copy of _Gaia Weekly_ should've been:

_ **Shin-Ra Corp Back On Top With "Re:Growth" Exhibit, New Direction** _

The article accompanying it should've been about the dazzling return of Shin-Ra to the public eye after three years of lying dormant. It should've had an exclusive interview with the company's elusive, young president, Rufus Shinra, where he discussed how his two brushes with death had made him a changed man—_a better man_—and it should've included at least one of the following metaphors: a long night ending in a glorious sunrise, a heavily pruned bush bursting into new life the following spring, or a phoenix rising from the ashes of Midgar to become a more responsible phoenix. Though any metamorphosis analogy would've been acceptable.

Instead, the front page was about the WRO housing development that was going up in Edge's west quadrant. The Shin-Ra exhibit write-up had been relegated to the weekly events calendar on the second to last page. Sandwiched between the weekend grand opening of a housewares store and a pet costume show on Saturday in Plaza Center, the single paragraph read:

_Photography exhibit opens Friday night with a reception from __6-8 pm__ in __the new Shin-Ra Electric Company corporate headquarters. The metal and glass 20-story building, which was completed in June, features an open, airy design that carefully avoids the excess of the corporation's tarnished past. The exhibit will be housed in the building's lobby until the end of September. After the opening, viewings by appointment only. 201, N Grid 2. 6889-215_.

At least the reception was turning out to be a success. Rufus Shinra knew this because important people had already congratulated him. In fact, whole lobby teemed with important people. Rufus knew this as well because he had personally seen to the guest list.

Dressed in his usual white suit, he stood on the mezzanine overlooking the lobby and surveyed the crowd below. Soon, they would trickle back to wherever important people went, and by tomorrow morning nobody would remember anything about the event. The night needed _something_ to make it memorable—what that _something_ was, however, Rufus couldn't even begin to guess—and with a half hour left in the reception, the odds of it happening weren't favorable.

His mind was already at work imagining the reception's bland, single paragraph write-up (if they even got that) when Tseng cleared his throat at Rufus's shoulder.

"Yes?" Rufus asked. "Did Reeve finally arrive?" At least a meeting with the head of the WRO would end the boredom.

"Not yet, sir." Tseng stared down at the lobby, where something was causing a stir. "But I think you might be interested in who just arrived."

"Who—?" But then Rufus turned and saw for himself.

Then he said: "Oh."

Then an image of tomorrow morning's front page headline formed in his mind. It said: _**Ex-AVALANCHE Member Attends Shin-Ra Opening. **_

And it was perfect.

No—

_She_ was perfect.

She had traded in the suspenders and mini-skirt for a black halter top of Wutainese silk and a shimmery, silver-blue skirt that swished around her knees. The dark hair that normally swung pell-mell past her shoulders was pinned up to better display the pearls dangling from her ears and around her neck. A subtle gloss shone on her lips, a pink flush suffused her cheeks, and at that glorious moment Tifa Lockhart was the most attractive _something _Rufus had ever seen.

And he wasn't the only one who felt that way, apparently.

The room volume, which had been at funeral levels, rose to a clamor on par with a celebrity sighting. Camera flashes went off like strobe lights, as photographers and social opportunists alike strove to capture every photogenic angle. Reporters swarmed around her like insects, buzzing with questions ranging from her favorite kind of toothpaste to her relationship with Cloud Strife.

Exactly what Rufus needed to happen was happening. Was this happiness? He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. If only he could frame it and hang it on the wall opposite his desk. It could go next to the framed front page they'd surely land, the one with the photo of Ms. Lockhart smiling in Shin-Ra's new lobby…

Except that she wasn't. In fact, Ms. Lockhart had disappeared.

Rufus made for the open staircase leading down to the lobby. "Tseng!"

A dark suit flashed past Rufus. "On it, sir!"

A feeling resembling panic assailed him as he rushed down the stairs. If anything happened to Tifa Lockhart that would be bad. Like, _**Hometown Hero Trampled in Shin-Ra Lobby**_ bad. Oh, gods, he could see it already.

Anxiety made the railing slippery under his hand. He watched Tseng reach the outer edge of the crowd and slice through it like an elegant blade. By the time Rufus stepped off the bottom stair, the Turk was already headed back with a visibly rattled Tifa on his arm.

Rufus, who had never seen her anything other than furious and violent, eyed her in concern as Tseng brought her to his side. He did a discreet once-over of her, searching for signs of injury, offense or anything else that might show up in a photograph.

"Ms. Lockhart, are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine...I think." She thanked Tseng before smoothing her hair and skirt. "Do I look okay?"

Having worked with Scarlet, Rufus only knew the question as a loaded gun. With extreme care he answered, "You look…lovely."

Tifa fanned her face with her hands, sending a light summery scent into the air. "Oh, thank you," she said with a small laugh. "Who would've thought, huh?"

"Who, indeed?" he replied, not entirely sure what she meant by that. Then, mindful of people snapping photos, he leaned in and suggested in an undertone, "Perhaps it would be safer if I escorted you around the exhibit…"

The fanning stopped as Tifa's eyes narrowed. "Escorted?"

"_Accompanied_."

Her chin took on a stubborn set. "I don't really think that's necessary. I'm fine browsing by myself."

Close by, a loud flashbulb went off. _Pop! _Rufus could see the headline now: _**Shin-Ra President Rejected by Local Bar Owner**_**. **He resisted the urge to scowl.

But he couldn't very well blame her—he _did _almost have her executed once. He should probably count himself lucky he got a polite refusal. She could've declined him with her fist.

"Very well, Ms. Lockhart, please accept my sincere appreciation for coming tonight and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening." Rufus turned to head back up the stairs. "Tseng, make sure she remains undisturbed. When Mr. Tuesti arrives, tell him to come to my office."

"Yes, sir."

"Wait."

Rufus paused to look over his shoulder. She was still in the same spot, wringing her hands. "Ms. Lockhart, I assure you there are no hard feelings at all."

"No, it's just that—" Tifa frowned.

"Just that what?"

She sent a pointed look at the crowd of gawkers just beyond Tseng and beckoned for Rufus to follow her. Wary but curious, he joined her at the nearest piece of artwork—a photograph of a disintegrating Shin-Ra reactor. The title of it, according to the placard, read: _Gaia In Ruins._

"I want you to know I have every reason to hate you," Tifa announced.

_Wonderful_. Rufus sighed to himself and folded his arms, bracing for a tongue lashing that he anticipated to be of Meteor proportions. He just hoped it would be over quickly.

"Before I left tonight," Tifa continued, "I told Cloud that Edge wasn't big enough to hold grudges in. Why did I come here if I was going to ignore my own advice? So, if you really want to accompany me around the room, I'm fine with it."

Had Meteor struck for real Rufus would've been no less dumbfounded. A myriad of reactions jockeyed for his consideration—relief, wonder, skepticism, possibly even gratitude—but in the end, hesitation won out. For all he knew she was testing him and the wrong answer meant a swift punch to the face.

Tifa mistook his silence for something else. "You _do_ still want to, right? Oh, I probably should've asked that first..."

"Nothing would please me more," Rufus quickly answered, "but are you certain?"

She shrugged and turned away to examine _Gaia in Ruins_. "Why not? I was under the impression that you were the good guys now."

A _pop! _sounded nearby. Rufus blinked. _**Former Tyrant Ambushed By Fighter's Verbal Jab. **_

He joined her at the next photo, a vibrant close up of a flower. "We're certainly trying to be," Rufus said carefully, but he was curious. "Is that why you're here tonight, to check up on us?"

"No. Rude invited me, but, well..." She waved a hand at Rufus. "_You_ know."

Did he? Oh. Right. He'd sent Rude to Costa del Sol, hadn't he? "I apologize then. Had I known you two were, um, dating..." Was his face red? It had better not be.

"We're not though. I may be dating, but I'm not _dating_ anyone yet." She moved onto the next photo, a landscape. "Hey, I recognize this place! See those holes in that rock? Barret trying to shoot Cait."

Rufus moved in for a closer look. "We have some of those holes around the office. People trying to shoot Reno."

Tifa chuckled at that. It was a genuine, engaging sound, and he was pleased to be the source of it. _Pop!_ _**Beautiful Woman Laughs at Joke, Delights.**_

He was near enough to see that several stray hairs had escaped her updo. A constellation of freckles stretched across her nose. Her brown eyes had glints of red in their depths. Aware that he might be staring, Rufus quickly offered, "Can I get you anything? A glass of wine?"

"Oh." Tifa glanced around the lobby. "You have that kind of thing here?"

Rufus kept his face painfully neutral. "Red or white?"

"Red. Thank you." She caught his arm when he turned to leave. "Do you mind if I keep looking while you're gone?"

The warmth seeping through his sleeve threatened to creep up his neck. "By all means. Tseng will see to it you're undisturbed."

As Rufus headed to the bar at the back of the room, he tried to remember the last time he'd been alone with a woman who wasn't an employee. He couldn't, and it alarmed him. And then it alarmed him that he was alarmed. Dear gods, it was stupid.

Was he not a fully grown adult? Was he not Rufus _fucking_ Shinra? He had survived Diamond Weapon and geostigma, by gods—surely he could survive being alone with Ms. Lockhart in a crowded room…even if she did look more attractive than he remembered.

Everything would be fine.

While Rufus waited on the bartender to finish pouring Tifa's drink, however, a voice came charging at him from behind to challenge that assertion.

"What's going on here?" it demanded.

Though his shoulders had tensed at the question, Rufus relaxed once he recognized the voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the dark hair and goatee of the mild-mannered leader of the WRO.

"I'm getting wine, obviously." He accepted the glass from the bartender with a nod and moved away from the bar. "Did you remember to bring the papers, Mr. Tuesti?"

"I left them with Tseng," answered Reeve. "But I'm talking about Tifa. She told me she's here on a date with you. That can't be true."

Oh? Surprised at the upgrade, Rufus scanned the room for his "date" and found her standing at a photograph with her head tilted to the right at an awkward angle. A polite distance behind her, Tseng held a similar pose.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. "You're right. Ms. Lockhart is nothing but a filthy liar."

Reeve scoffed. "You know what I mean."

Rufus's smile faded. "I'm not sure I do. Is it really so strange that I might find her company enjoyable?"

"Oh, don't hand me that. You're Rufus Shinra—you never do anything unless there's something in it for you. What is it? Is it the publicity?"

"It sounds like you trust me enough to do business with me, but not enough to believe I might be telling the truth," Rufus said, voice clipped. "I'm not made of stone, after all."

"Now _that's _debatable." Reeve loosened his tie and eyed the bar. "Eh, whatever. We'll meet after your 'date.'"

Reeve was already discussing drink options with the bartender when Rufus left him to rejoin Tifa and Tseng. While he wove his way through the crowd, he noticed a blatant shift in opinion of him. Several people stopped him to offer more congratulations—_now_ reporters wanted photos—and women eyed him with an interest he found both predatory and familiar.

The _something_ he needed to happen had definitely happened. But by the time Rufus made it back to Tifa, his mood had curdled. Something felt off about it. Artificial. Insincere. The room, which felt too lifeless earlier, now felt too full.

Unaware of his arrival, Tifa swung on her heel to move to the next photo…and promptly ran into the glass in his hand. It bumped against his white jacket, leaving a splash of wine on his chest.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!" Tifa dug into her purse for a tissue. She pressed it to the stain, but after a minute of ineffectual dabbing told him, "I don't think that helped any. Just send the cleaning bill to the bar."

"Relax, Ms. Lockhart. It's just a coat. I have plenty more just like it." His reaction—or lack of one—surprised even him, but the sight of her hand on his chest had been like a magic trick. _Poof! _Irritation gone, replaced by awkwardness.

"But—"

Rufus handed the offending glass to her and shrugged out of his jacket, exposing a collared black button-down shirt. "Why don't you show me instead what you were just looking at?"

Behind him, Tseng made a noise.

Tifa shoved the tissue back in her purse and took a sip of her wine. "Um, it's really not that interesting."

"Come on," he said, draping his jacket over an arm. "I saw you standing at it for quite some time."

Tseng made another noise.

"Well, that's because it's very… Err, I didn't know that position was, um—"

Now Rufus was extremely curious. "Yes?"

"Oh, just see for yourself," Tifa muttered. She took another sip of wine, but her eyes slid over to a spot on the wall.

Rufus squinted. From where he stood, it appeared to be a large black and white photo of two abstract shapes. Nothing odd about that. Then he took a closer look.

Oh, dear gods.

_Pop!_ went a flash. _**Rufus Shinra Seen Enjoying Graphic Nude with Tifa Lockhart. **_The photographer probably got him with his mouth hanging open too. Motherfu—

"Look! There's a nice still life." Tifa pointed to a photo in the corner of the room.

"Oh good." He schooled his features into a mask of polite indifference. "That is...I do enjoy a good still life."

While they made a point to walk away casually, when Rufus snuck a glance at Tifa, he caught her struggling to suppress a laugh. Bloody hell.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she snickered. "Is that going to stay in the lobby for the rest of the exhibit?"

Rufus hid a smile. "Not if I have any say in it—which I do. I'll have Tseng move it to Reno's office."

When they reached the still life, she examined the collection of random objects in it, then stepped back and drained the last bit of wine in her glass. "Well, that was the last photo," she announced. "I didn't know what to expect when you offered to _accompany _me"—she smiled at that—"but I had fun. I'm a little sad it's over."

"Likewise, Ms. Lockhart," he said, genuinely rueful. His first date in ages and it was over in twenty minutes. _But it didn't have to be_, a voice reminded him. He wasn't Rufus _fucking _Shinra for nothing. "There's a place nearby that serves excellent iced coffees, I'm told. Would you...like to get one?"

Tifa blinked at him. "Now? But the exhibit isn't over."

Rufus looked at his watch. "Tseng can handle the last ten minutes."

"I don't know…"

"You _do_ owe me for the loss of a jacket..." he reminded her.

_Pop!_ _**'Ruthless' Shinra Guilt Trips Date. **_And he wasn't the least bit sorry.

"A coffee for a jacket? Well, that doesn't seem very fair." She slid her hand into the crook of the arm holding the jacket. "But if that's what you really want, lead the way."

While Tseng cleared them a path to the entrance, Rufus asked himself if he knew what he was doing. He suspected he already knew the answer, but he also told himself he didn't want any spoilers.

Out on the sidewalk, a few pedestrians were taking advantage of the clear evening, but otherwise they were alone. A breeze stirred her bangs and Rufus saw a shiver run through her. He opened his coat and dropped it over her shoulders. It was quite large on her and the wine stain looked like some low budget boutonnière, but for a second the sight of it on her mesmerized him.

Tifa turned her head up and down the street. "Which way is it?"

"This way, I think." Rufus started toward the end of the block, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves to roll up.

She fell into step beside him, her excitement palpable. "You've never been there?"

"I have not," he confessed. "I've never tried an iced coffee either."

"Neither have I. It's hard to get out with a business to run and kids to take care of."

Rufus could relate. "How were you able to escape tonight?"

"Barret has Denzel and Marlene until the end of the month, and Cloud and Vincent are tending the bar. I wonder…" He waited for her to finish that thought, but she fell silent.

They reached a two-story, brick building at the end of the block, which Rufus assumed was the place. A painted logo on a large window said "DEZA'S" with the words "Eats" and "Drinks" arching above and below it in a scripty typeface. Outside, café tables were paired with chairs under the red and blue striped awning that hung over the window, while the inside was comprised of a long counter and more tables and chairs in warm, wooden hues.

He touched Tifa's shoulder. "Have a seat and check in if you want. I'll go inside and order."

She dug under his jacket for her purse. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all." He pulled out a chair for her at the nearest table. Tifa sat down with her PHS already in hand. On his way in, he saw her press a button before putting it to her ear.

Most of the tables inside were occupied by either laptops or drinks or both. Rufus walked to the counter and put in an order for two medium iced coffees then idly perused a flyer for a carnival next Saturday while he waited. After paying for the drinks, he stepped outside in time to see her close up her phone and put it back in her purse.

He sat down across from her and passed her the coffee. "Everything all right?" he inquired before taking a sip from his straw.

Tifa rolled her eyes. "It sounds like a normal night, but Cloud acts like he's dying. He wanted to know when I'd be home."

Rufus was instantly curious. "And what did you tell him?"

Tifa took a long pull of her drink before answering. "I told him after I was done getting coffee with Rufus Shinra!" She grinned. "As you can imagine, he didn't like that."

No, Rufus couldn't imagine that he would. Then again, the man had every opportunity to do something about it, and it seemed he had not. Why else would Tifa be accepting dates from former enemies?

"I don't know about you, but I think I'm a fan of iced coffee." She looked at her cup then took another pull from her straw. "What's your verdict?"

"Sweet, but tolerable," Rufus decided. "Not bad."

She toyed with her straw. "You told Cloud you have a debt to the planet. What does that mean?"

Strife must've mentioned it on the phone. "It means I try my damnedest to repair the damage Shin-Ra has done," Rufus said. "You may not believe this, but I truly am sorry for a lot of things, which I'm in the process of trying to make right."

She studied him for a moment, looking for something. What it was, Rufus didn't know but he hoped he possessed it. "Why?" she finally asked.

"Because someone has to—it might as well be me." Rufus shook the ice in his cup and took a drink. "After all, it's my name, my company."

"And how will you do that?"

"By taking Shin-Ra back to its roots. We aren't a government or a military—we're a utilities company. We should be supplying power."

Tifa leaned foward. "But how? Mako is off-limits now."

"Solar."

Her eyebrows raised at that. "Really?"

Rufus nodded. "I'm working on developing a solar collection panel. We have a prototype—it's just a matter of fine tuning its efficiency before we're ready to mass produce it. I already have several interested buyers."

He could tell he'd shocked her. "You do? For what, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Commercial use." He was going to leave it at that, but her interest was so earnest, he couldn't help revealing more. "Our prospective clients are located in Costa del Sol, but they aren't too keen on having a large, unsightly panel on their roof."

"Snobs," she said in mock disgust.

"Exactly. But rich investor snobs. A necessary evil." Rufus had been one himself, once not so long ago.

Tifa smiled, then gazed across the street with her straw in her mouth, lost in thought. Suddenly she perked up. "You couldn't… Oh, never mind. It's probably a stupid idea."

Rufus leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. "Try me."

"Well…" She sat forward, face animated. "I was watching some workers put up one of those WRO prefab houses the other day—have you ever seen it?"

"I have not," Rufus said, but he was charmed by her enthusiasm regardless. "Go on."

"Oh, you should! It's so fascinating to watch. See, they join concrete panels together like a giant gingerbread house."

"A giant gingerbread house," Rufus repeated in amusement. What would Reeve think, he wondered, if he heard his beloved project reduced to an edible novelty.

Tifa laughed. "But without the frosting. So anyway, I was thinking since they're both panels…"

"…Then why couldn't we integrate them both into the same panel," Rufus finished.

Tifa beamed at him. "Exactly!"

Rufus rubbed his chin, intrigued by the idea. It _could_ work. It _might_ work. "I'll have R and D look into it."

"Really?" She sounded both surprised and hopeful. "You think it's a good idea?"

"No, Ms. Lockhart, I think it's a _great_ idea." The amount of sincerity in his words astonished even him. "However, it needs researched before we'll know if it's a _practical_ idea." But already his mind was already picturing contracts with WRO, the Shin-Ra logo on every house, every building…

"Oh, absolutely," she said, but he could tell she was pleased. And for some reason that pleased him. He wasn't used to someone not on his payroll taking an interest in his work, least of all Tifa Lockhart—who in the space of one iced coffee had possibly solved his biggest dilemma.

A giant gingerbread house. _**Lockhart Named Head of Development Department at Shin-Ra.**_

Rufus looked at his watch. "Shall we, Ms. Lockhart? It's almost 8:30 and I was supposed to meet with Reeve tonight."

"Oh, is it that late already?" She rose from her chair and smoothed out her skirt.

Rufus stood and collected their empty cups. She waited nearby while he deposited them into the trash bin, and together they headed back toward the building.

"Why do you do that?" Tifa asked. "I've noticed that Rude and Reno do it too."

Rufus slowed their pace down to a slow stroll and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Do what? Throw trash in the waste can?"

She elbowed him in the arm. "Ha ha. No, call me by my last name. I mean, you add 'Ms.' to it, but it's still 'Lockhart' this, 'Lockhart' that."

"Oh." _That_. What was one more company secret? At this rate he'd be telling her his middle name next week. "It's because I became acquainted with you through your case file, and you've never given me permission to call you anything else."

"My case file?" She drew his coat tighter around her as if trying to shrink into it.

Was she cold again? Hiding? Rufus had no idea. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know, I just feel so exposed now, knowing you guys have a file on me."

"And my coat is the last place we'd look, obviously." She laughed at that, which he discovered did things to her eyes, which in turn did things to his thoughts—thoughts he had no time for, nor any business having.

But they were in front of the Shin-Ra building again, and Tseng was already coming through the front doors to meet them. At least the lobby looked empty.

"Sir, Reeve is inside and wants to go over the papers."

"I'll be in shortly. I want you to bring the car around and see to it that Ms. Lockhart gets home safely."

"Yes, sir."

After Tseng departed, Rufus turned to her. "I trust I was an adequate escort tonight."

Tifa cocked her head to one side. "I know I refused you when you first asked, but I'm glad I reconsidered. I had an enjoyable time. Who would've thought I'd be saying that about _you_?"

Rufus smiled. "Who indeed?"

When a black car pulled up alongside the curb, he opened the rear passenger door for her and waited until she climbed inside before saying, "Good night, Ms. Lockhart."

Tifa gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Good night…Mr. Shinra."

Rufus closed the door after taking one last glance and stepped back onto the sidewalk. He watched the car until it disappeared, and as he turned to go meet Reeve he had one thought lodged in his mind…

Tseng had better not be making a date with her.

Rufus could already see the headline: _**Head Of Shin-Ra Fires Male Turks, Woman Involved.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is [fanart](https://ru-ree-ru.tumblr.com/post/624611104383975424/tifa-was-visiting-a-photography-exhibit-hosted-by) for this now! A big THANK YOU to Ruul!

**Author's Note:**

> This author replies to comments unless on hiatus (and sometimes even then).


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